


Keynotes

by merelypassingtime



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 story, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Characters Have Ridiculously Eclectic Taste in Music, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I am so good at italics right now, Inspired by Music, Johnlock Roulette, Just Like The Author Does, Karaoke, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03 Fix-It, Suicidal Thoughts, but just a bit, lots of music references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelypassingtime/pseuds/merelypassingtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times Sherlock and John sang karaoke alone and the one time they sang together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keynotes

1

It was Sherlock’s deepest, darkest secret. 

More hidden than the tiny bag of cocaine he kept in the flat for emergencies, more shameful than the time he had been forced to ask Mycroft for help. 

Sherlock understood addiction, he knew how it prowled the edges of one's attention just waiting to get one claw in far enough to rend you apart. And every time he broke down he told himself that this would be the last but some how he always found himself there again.

Sometimes a man just needed to sing.

That afternoon, after leaving St Barts with a terse deduction and a wink he found himself unable to deny the urge any longer. He forced himself to stop at his room to change into less distinct clothing and left through a broken window in the basement to throw off Mycroft's watchers. 

The pub was dark and run down but it was just around the corner from his room on Montague Street and never drew too much of a crowd even on a Friday. Most importantly it also offered its largely disinterested patrons live karaoke every night. 

Sherlock looked through the slightly sticky pages at the songs available. He thought about the man he had met that day, a soldier and a doctor, unassuming and commanding, broken and yet still strong. Fascinating in his contradictions. Then he thought about himself, going from barely acknowledging him to dissecting the man's life just as he had all his hated classmates at uni. No, he doubted he would ever see the intriguing Doctor Watson again. In the end the song almost choose itself.

When they called his name, well not really his name but the one he used here, a few extremely poorly sung songs later, he was slow to the microphone. As the opening notes played he mentally rearranged the song into a lower key to suit his rich baritone. Then he sang with all the feelings he didn't admit to having:

_Yes, he caught my eye_  
_As we walked on by_  
_He could see from my face that I was,_  
_Flying high_  
_And I don't think that I'll see him again_  
_But we shared a moment that will last till the end_  
_You're beautiful_  
_You're beautiful_  
_You're beautiful, it's true_  
_I saw your face in a crowded place_  
_And I don't know what to do_  
_'Cause I'll never be with you_

 

When the song ended there was a smattering of polite applause, certainly more than any of the last half dozen singers had received combined, and a couple of people tried to complement him. Sherlock just walked out of the pub and back to his dingy room. He sighed, but started packing up his belongings. He would take the flat on Baker Street and just hope that the doctor would show up at seven the next evening.

Hope felt alien in his chest.

*

It was a few hours later that same night and John Watson was just slightly drunk. Okay, maybe he was a bit more than slightly drunk he admitted to himself. But after a few empty hours in his depressing bedsit reading the somewhat mad ramblings of his potential new flatmate the walls had seemed to be closing in on him. He had needed to get out for a pint.

Several pints later, a particularly bad version of Journey’s 'Don't Stop Believin' drew John's attention from the replay of last week's football game to the small stage in the corner that was set up for karaoke.

One of the few entertainments available in Afghanistan had been a small karaoke machine in the mess. Nothing near as grand as even the modest set up here, but still he and his mates has spent many evenings singing bad songs and laughing. 

In a fit of inebriated nostalgia for those happy times he wandered over and picked a song that had been one of his mum's favorites. He was surprised they had it.

He downed most of another pint before his turn came, but his voice was still steady when he began:

_I've just seen a face_  
_I can't forget the time or place_  
_Where we just meet_  
_He's just the guy for me_  
_And want all the world to see_  
_We've met_

_Had it been another day_  
_I might have looked the other way_  
_And I'd have never been aware_  
_But as it is I'll dream of him_  
_Tonight_  
_Falling, yes I am falling_  
_And he keeps calling_  
_Me back again_

 

He finished the short song to general apathy, drank the rest of his pint, and decided to head back to the bedsit.

It wasn't until he laying in bed waiting for sleep that he thought about how telling it was that he had switched all the pronouns in the song to masculine.

 

2

It was fortunate that John regularly had drinks with Lestrade and some of this rugby lads on Wednesdays, it made sneaking out to the same little pub near Montague Street easy those times the violin just wasn't enough and he had to get the music out of his head.

It was happening more often as John settled in to their flat and took up more of Sherlock’s life. Sometimes just the sight of John sitting in his chair reading, the firelight bronzing his skin, his tongue running over his bottom lip as it so often did when he was thinking... Well, it was enough to make Sherlock need to get out and sing. He always made himself wait until Wednesday though.

By now the barman knew him by his alias and brought him a glass of red wine without being asked. And if he noticed a theme in the songs Sherlock sang, he didn't comment.

Tonight Sherlock looked though the 'New Songs!' section of the book and quickly found a song that fit his mood, dark and driving. When he sang it the pub went quiet:

_So have you got the guts?_  
_Been wondering if your heart's still open and if so I wanna know what time it shuts_  
_Simmer down and pucker up_  
_I'm sorry to interrupt. It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you_  
_I don't know if you feel the same as I do_  
_But we could be together if you wanted to_

_Do I wanna know?_  
_If this feeling flows both ways?_  
_Sad to see you go_  
_Was sort of hoping that you'd stay_  
_Baby we both know_  
_That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day_

 

People still clapped, but no one tried to talk to him anymore. He sat at his table a few minutes longer and thought about picking another song. In the end though he just paid the barman and left. 

He had said what he needed to say.

*

John was furious. Justifiably and righteously furious. Didn't he put up with enough? The body parts in the refrigerator, the violin at all hours, the explosions, the unlabeled chemicals in the kitchen, he took it all in stride. Okay, so maybe he complained and demanded that things be cleaned out on occasion but he never left for good and he never tried to change Sherlock into a different person. He actually rather liked the annoying git the way he was.

That was just the problem, he liked Sherlock and he knew Sherlock did not like him in the same way. He had made that clear the very first night at Angelo's when he ruthlessly shot John's flirtation down.

So why was the man systematically destroying every one of John's relationships? John had been trying desperately to move on, to stop any thoughts he had about Sherlock in a non-platonic context and just enjoy what was still the best and most important friendship he had ever had in his life. But every date he went on was interrupted by cases or just by Sherlock's ongoing battle with ennui. Every woman he tried to bring home was deduced and driven away. 

Like Michelle tonight. Sure the daddy fetish and kleptomania would have made things awkward down the road, but tonight he had just wanted to get off with someone, anyone and release some of the tension that was so close to his surface these days. Tension only made worse by bloody Sherlock and his bloody tight shirts and his damnable prancing around in bedsheets. 

John stomped his foot extra hard on the next step to relay his anger better to the universe. The universe did not respond and he felt a bit foolish.

For the first time since storming out of the flat after Michelle, John looked around himself to get his bearings. He was rather surprised to find himself outside a familiar shabby pub, the 'Karaoke Every Night' sign more worn but no less desperate looking than he sort of remembered from the night he had met Sherlock.

He decided a drink and a bit of sitting wouldn't be a bad idea before he caught the tube home.

He wasn't even halfway though his pint before gave up any pretext and picked a song from the karaoke book. The pub was almost empty and he did not have to wait at all before going up for his turn. He sang:

_What a wicked game you play to make me feel this way._  
_What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you._  
_What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way._  
_What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you_  
_No, I don't want to fall in love_  
_No, I don't want to fall in love_  
_With you, with you_

 

He thought he had never meant anything more truly in his life. By the time he did leave the pub for home his anger had completely given way to a maudlin mood. He was glad Sherlock wasn't home when he got in.

 

3

It was a crowded hotel bar in the American southwest and Sherlock was absolutely bored with it all. He was sick of the running and the bad motel rooms. He was tired of lying and pretending, and being, ugh, personable. 

It had been a year since he had jumped off the roof of St Bart's and started his mission to rid the world of Moriarty's web. At first it had been fun, every day a challenge and a new strand to unravel, but slowly the lack of things had grown on him. There was excitement but there was no tea and homemade biscuits from Mrs Hudson to wind down with after. There were puzzles solved and deductions made but there was no John to smile at him and call him extraordinary.

And to top it all off it was clear his source was not going to be meeting him there tonight as promised. That meant his trip to this arid hell was a waste of time, more time away from London, away from his home.

He was just getting up to leave when the badly mixed P.A. system crackled to life, and it was announced that Happy Hour Karaoke was about to begin. He was standing in the queue for a turn without any conscious thought on his part.

The DJ gave him an odd look when he heard his song request. “Look, are you sure man? That song is really a downer, I don't think the crowd will like it.” But Sherlock insisted and kept his eyes closed, picturing a man half the world away, as he sang:

_No one knows what it's like_  
_To feel these feelings_  
_Like I do_  
_And I blame you_

_No one bites back as hard_  
_On their anger_  
_None of my pain and woe_  
_Can show through_  
_But my dreams_  
_They aren't as empty_  
_As my conscience seems to be_

 

True to the DJ's prediction many of the raucous business travelers in the bar initially looked annoyed at the change in tone from upbeat pop songs. However by the end of the song not a one of them failed to be moved by the sight of the tall, gaunt man swaying at the microphone, tears falling freely from his blue grey eyes.

*

On the one year anniversary of Sherlock's death John took the day off from work. Lestrade, Molly, and Mrs Hudson had all reached out to him expressing their sympathy, asking him over for drinks or tea or just for a bit of company. He ignored them all and went to Sherlock's grave alone instead.

He spend hours there, talking to Sherlock, telling him all the things that had happen since his death. He talked about the crimes that had gone unsolved and how the case to clear his name was going. He told him about Lestrade's reinstatement and the slow madness of Anderson. He rambled on a bit about the new surgery he was working at and how he had started seeing a nurse who worked there named Mary. He kept talking until he realized that he could no longer hear Sherlock's voice in his head telling him he was tedious and to please shut up and let him think as Sherlock surely would have done. Then he broke down crying.

It had been his original plan to also go by St Bart's and stand on the street as he had that day and look again for that dark shape on the roof, so stark against the pale summer sky. Or to perhaps be that dark shadow on the roof himself, he hadn't quite made up his mind.

When he left the cemetery though all the CCTV cameras in his immediate area began to track his movements. He knew it wasn't just paranoia on his part. No, if St Bart's was going to be the end of his plans he would have to pick a different day for it. 'Obviously,' Sherlock's voice rang in his head. John smiled a bit at that.

So instead he found himself back at the little pub, far from Baker Street and even farther from his new and yet depressingly familiar bedsit. It just seemed right to be there.

Again the place was nearly empty and he wondered how they stayed in business. He ordered a shot of whiskey and a pint of lager at the bar, downed the first and nursed the second while he browsed the available songs. Again the selection astounded him, and he found just the song he was looking for. Even though it was early and no one else was there to sing the barman set the song up for him when he asked with a minimum of grumbling. The song had a long intro, and John used the time to try and steady his heart. When the words did begin he knew he had not been ready, but that he needed to say them out loud to someone even if it was just to strangers:

_Remembering_  
_You running soft through the night_  
_You were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow_  
_And screamed at the make-believe_  
_Screamed at the sky_  
_And you finally found all your courage_  
_To let it all go_

_If only I'd thought of the right words_  
_I could have held on to your heart_  
_If only I'd thought of the right words_  
_I wouldn't be breaking apart_  
_All my pictures of you_

 

He finished with a sigh, his heart too heavy in his chest. The woman standing near the stage waiting for her turn clapped politely. “The Cure, right?” she asked him. He just nodded as he handed the mic over. “Isn't eighties music the best?” He tried to smile but it didn't feel right on his face. He left before she was done singing 'Time After Time.' 

 

4

Telling John he was alive had not gone as planned. In the two years he had been 'dead' he had pictured a lot of scenarios, most started with anger and some had featured punching but all had ended with joy and embraces. The really good ones ended with kissing. None had included a mustache or a new fiance and Sherlock was not sure what he could do to fix any of the emotional fallout that his death had left. Somewhere he thought Moriarty was still laughing at him.

But he was back in London at least and for the first time in more than a year he could give in to his addiction.

He turned up at the pub very near to closing that night, and was forced to tip the barman heavily to secure a song. As it was it would be the last of the night.

It was worth it as the lyrics flowed out of him, saying everything he had wanted to say to John that night:

_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry_  
_You don't know how lovely you are_

_I had to find you_  
_Tell you I need you_  
_Tell you I set you apart_

_Tell me your secrets_  
_And ask me your questions_  
_Oh, let's go back to the start_

_Nobody said it was easy_  
_It's such a shame for us to part_  
_Nobody said it was easy_  
_No one ever said it would be this hard_

_Oh, take me back to the start_

 

The pub was empty when by the end of his song, and the barman ushered him out into the cold November rain without ceremony, locking the pub's door behind him.

Sherlock walked through the empty streets towards Baker Street, thinking. As much as he might wish he could go back to the start of his friendship with John, wish that he could redo that first night at Angelo’s and make a different choice with his then brand new flatmate, it was never going to happen. He would need to do his best to make sure the John that he did have would stay in his life and most importantly he would make sure that John would be happy.

*

Mary had left him at the surgery to go do something or other with her friend Cath, John couldn't honestly remember what. It had been a day both stressful and mind numbing, which probably shouldn't be possible but clearly was. He was pretty sure Sherlock would understand how it could be both, and once more would not have even needed John to explain his day to him. He would know just by observing.

John huffed out a breath over his newly shorn lip, it was not surprising at all that he had been thinking of his returned friend all day, indeed it was pretty much to be expected. What had surprised him was how few of his thoughts were angry anymore. Had he really forgiven two years of mourning and lies in less than a day? Could he ever really trust Sherlock again after breaking his heart so thoroughly?

Another thing that failed to surprise him was ending up at the poorly lit little pub. Didn't he always end up here when thoughts of Sherlock crowded out all reason in his mind. 

He had no trouble picking out a song either, and while another long intro spooled out in to the stale, musty pub air he thought about what the last two years must have been like for Sherlock, out there alone dismantling Moriarty's network. No support, all his friends and his family thinking him dead. He felt the last bit of that hard knot of anger dissolve leaving only sorrow and questions. So he sang, asking Sherlock, then telling him:

_Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?_  
_Hot ashes for trees?_  
_Hot air for a cool breeze?_  
_Cold comfort for change?_  
_Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?_

_How I wish, how I wish you were here._  
_We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,_  
_Running over the same old ground._  
_What have we found?_  
_The same old fears._  
_Wish you were here._

 

John knew then that, yes, he did really wish Sherlock was there. He knew what to do, so he paid for one last shot and began the long walk to Baker Street.

It was just too bad that Magnussen's goons kidnapped him before he could talk to his best friend.

 

5

Sherlock was taken into custody almost the moment he shot Magnussen, as he had known he would be. But Mary was safe and John's family whole and intact. It was a fair trade.

He fully expected to spend the rest of his life in prison. He was not expecting the deal Mycroft offered him, freedom and work albeit on a very short, very terminal time line. He jumped at the chance. He also pooled all his newly acquired prison assets for as many class A drugs as he trade for.

The night before his flight to eastern Europe, before the last time he would ever see John, he took half of them and retreated to his mind palace. There he painstakingly recreated his karaoke spot, just around the corner from Montague Street. He included everything from the pattern of scratched and nicks on the bar top to the florescent light in the corner that had kept flickering the last time he had been there.

Once the pub was as perfect as he could make it, he began to sing. He sang every song he had ever sung there again, and several he had just wanted to sing. Inevitably he found himself coming back to the same song over again, so throughout the night he crooned:

_Mama, just killed a man,_  
_Put a gun against his head,_  
_Pulled my trigger, now he's dead._  
_Mama, life had just begun,_  
_But now I've gone and thrown it all away._

_Mama, ooh,_  
_Didn't mean to make you cry,_  
_If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,_  
_Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters._

_Too late, my time has come,_  
_Sends shivers down my spine,_  
_Body's aching all the time._  
_Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go,_  
_Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth._

 

He was still singing it when the guards came for him in the morning. They had to spray him with the riot hose to shut him up. 

He apologized when he was back out of his mind palace and very politely asked for privacy to change into dry clothes before they left. He shot the rest of the drugs while they waited, tucked the list of what he had taken in his pocket for Mycroft, and left to say goodbye to John forever.

*

It had been a whirlwind of a month and John felt undeniably dizzy with it. First with Magnussen's death, then Sherlock leaving, and Moriarty's reappearance. Honestly, Mary's final betrayal and Mycroft sweeping in to take her into custody had just been the icing on the cake of his confusion. Now he had three months to decide if he would want to raise the daughter he was going to have with a professional assassin who was now indefinitely in the custody of the British government alone or give her up for adoption. Could he move back to Baker Street? Would Sherlock even still want him to?

As soon as the hospital discharged him after many reiterations of the fact that, yes, he was a doctor himself and he could bloody well look after a broken arm even if it was his dominant hand, he took a taxi not back to the terrace house in the suburbs filled with Mary's lies and not to Baker Street where he would have to confront Sherlock and his uncertain future, but to the pub and the promise of karaoke.

When he got there he was disconcerted to see how busy the place was, especially for a cold, wintery Wednesday. The Wednesday in fact exactly six years after his first visit here, six years after he met the force of nature that was Sherlock Holmes. 

He had to shout at the bar to get his drink, a plain cranberry juice so as not to interfere with the pain medication he had for the arm. It relieved him to see the small karaoke stage still in use in the corner. He sidled over and spent a great deal of time choosing a song, finally deciding on one that had been a great favorite of one of the other nurses at the surgery. Then he spent even more time waiting for his turn to sing it, giving him a chance to Google the lyrics and tweak them to better suit the message in his heart. When his name was called he was glad the unexpected crowd paid him little attention, and he read his modified lyrics off the notepad on his phone rather than the system's screen:

_Same flat but it feels just a little bit emptier now_  
_Old Bond films on the telly but they just aren't the same_  
_When our friends ask about you, all it does is just tear me down_  
_'Cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name_

_It all just sounds like oooooh…_  
_Mmm, too old, too dumb to realize_  
_That I should've bought you flowers_  
_And held your hand_  
_I freely gave you all my hours_  
_But never did take the chance_  
_I should have held you at my party_  
_'Cause all you wanted to do was dance_  
_but my baby's not dancing_  
_Cause I couldn't admit I loved a man_

_My pride, my ego, my needs, and my selfish ways_  
_Caused a great and good man like you to walk out my life_  
_Now I never, never get to clean up the mess I made, ohh…_  
_And it haunts me every time I close my eyes_

 

John knew his voice was fair but nothing to write home about, and the bit of clapping he received was all he expected. What he didn't expect was the figure waiting in front of the stage, tatty grey hoodie hiding his auburn curls but not his piercing light eyes. John saw hope and fear and a question burning in those eyes and it stole his breath. He thought to himself, 'Sod this,' and took a too-quick step toward Sherlock. He forgot he was on a raised stage, stumbled and nearly fell before catching hold of Sherlock's shoulder and righting himself. He then buried the fingers of his good hand in the taller man's gorgeous hair and pulled him down into a searing kiss.

 

+1

When the newly married couple announced that instead of a first dance together they were going to sing a duet none of their guests were shocked. The couple had always been a bit odd. One of the guest might have muttered 'Freaks' under her breath, but she did it without any real malice.

As the couple made their way to the set stage, Sherlock paused to hand the small blonde flower girl over to an adoring Mrs Hudson. Only just a year old, the wedding had been a bit too much for Violet Watson-Holmes and she had been sleeping for most of the reception.

When Sherlock joined his new husband at the single microphone a brief tussle ensued as both men tried to adjust it to the right height for their very different statures. Laughter rolled though the crowd, then quieted as the music began. The two men had eyes only for one other as they sang:

_I've been wandering round_  
_But I still come back to you_  
_In rain or shine_  
_You've stood by me love_  
_I'm happy at home_  
_You're my best friend._

_Ooh, you make me live_  
_Whenever this world is cruel to me_  
_I got you to help me forgive_  
_Ooh, you make me live now honey_  
_Ooh, you make me live_

_You're the first one_  
_When things turn out bad_  
_You know I'll never be lonely_  
_You're my only one_  
_And I love the things_  
_I really love the things that you do_  
_You're my best friend_

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Song list:  
> You're Beautiful by James Blunt (2004)  
> I've Just Seen a Face by The Beatles (1965)
> 
> Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys (2013)  
> Wicked Games by Chris Isaak (1989)
> 
> Behind Blue Eyes by The Who (1971)  
> Pictures of You by The Cure (1989)
> 
> The Scientist by Coldplay (2002)  
> Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd (1975)
> 
> Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen (1975)  
> When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars (2012)
> 
> You're My Best Friend by Queen (1975)
> 
> Plus the three bonus songs that no one seems to have noticed:
> 
> Don't Stop Believin' by Journey, which John hears right after meeting Sherlock and which has the lyrics:
> 
> _Workin' hard to get my fill_   
>  _Everybody wants a thrill_   
>  _Payin' anything to roll the dice_   
>  _Just one more time_
> 
>  
> 
> Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper, which John doesn't listen to while he thinks Sherlock is dead:
> 
> _If you're lost you can look and you will find me_   
>  _Time after time_   
>  _If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting_   
>  _Time after time_
> 
>  
> 
> November Rain by Gun N' Roses, which is slyly mentioned as Sherlock is leaving the bar after singing The Scientist:
> 
> _And when your fears subside_   
>  _And shadows still remain_   
>  _I know that you can love me_   
>  _When there's no one left to blame_   
>  _So never mind the darkness_   
>  _We still can find a way_   
>  _'Cause nothin' lasts forever_   
>  _Even cold November rain_


End file.
